


because survival is insufficient

by scissorghost



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band), Station Eleven - Emily St. John Mandel
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Found Family, Hair Braiding, M/M, Past Character Death, Scars, i listened to joji for twelve hours straight and then i wrote this, jeonghan is a survivor out of spite, seungcheol is a survivor out of love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 18:35:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29597037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scissorghost/pseuds/scissorghost
Summary: They picked Jeonghan up somewhere outside Busan in the summer of Year 15, the pavement so cracked open by vegetation that the caravans clattered nonstop for miles.Seungcheol saw him first, a ghost of a boy holding knives in his hands at the edge of the overgrown wood. He was watching intently as Seungcheol slowed his horse to stillness, the one he called Kkuma because of the faint orange tint to her coat, and held up both hands, palms out. There was no way the boy could have missed the noise of the Symphony approaching.
Relationships: Choi Seungcheol | S.Coups/Yoon Jeonghan
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	because survival is insufficient

**Author's Note:**

> hi everyone i don't know what came over me but here's some food i guess!!
> 
> i wasn't really sure how to tag this but to be clear, the setting (and the concept of the Travelling Symphony in particular) is entirely based on the book Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel. i don't think it requires any knowledge of the book to understand this fic, but as a warning it is set in a world where most of the world's population were wiped out by an epidemic almost 20 years ago. if that's not for you then i absolutely understand, and please take care of yourself! but i like to think that (in the spirit of the book) it's more hopeful than entirely sad lol

They picked Jeonghan up somewhere outside Busan in the summer of Year 15, the pavement so cracked open by vegetation that the caravans clattered nonstop for miles.

Seungcheol saw him first, a ghost of a boy holding knives in his hands at the edge of the overgrown wood. He was watching intently as Seungcheol slowed his horse to stillness, the one he called Kkuma because of the faint orange tint to her coat, and held up both hands, palms out. There was no way the boy could have missed the noise of the Symphony approaching.

“I’m part of the Travelling Symphony,” he called out to the boy. “We’re here to give the folks in Busan a little entertainment.” Seungcheol smiled and tried to project the aura of authority that Seungkwan was always badgering him about needing to practice.

“I don’t think they’re gonna go for that,” the boy said, barely loud enough for Seungcheol to hear.

“They don’t want us to perform for them?” Seungcheol asked, stung. The Busan settlement had always been happy to have some music before, or a full production if they had the time and Seokmin and Jieun were ready to monologue.

The boy snorted and started walking closer, knives still nestled in the palms of his hands but no longer held up, ready to throw. When he was ten feet away from Seungcheol he stopped and looked up, and Seungcheol noticed at once that the boy was less a boy than he’d first thought, that he had a long-healed scar traveling from the inside corner of his left eye down, nicking the curve of his top lip and then continuing on to the point of his chin, and that he was beautiful.

“There is no Busan settlement anymore,” he said. His head twitched like he wanted to look back but didn’t dare take his eyes off Seungcheol to do it. “Cult got them.”

Seungcheol swore, under his breath but loud enough to be heard. If he squinted he could see a plume of smoke far in the distance, grey and billowing. He remembered that the Busan settlement had taken up residence in a hotel and the surrounding buildings. The last time they came through they performed King Arthur on a little pavilion made of old highway signs and Seungkwan had sniffled his way through the entire second half.

They had been coming to Busan for the past five years now and had never had any trouble. But Seungcheol knew better than most that out here, your circumstances could change quicker than the seasons. And once they got their hooks in, the cults worked fast.

“Fuck, alright. What’s your name?”

The young man eyed him suspiciously and Seungcheol huffed a sigh.

“You can lie, I don’t care, but I’ve got to tell them to turn around before we get any farther. We don’t do cults.”

“Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine,” he finally said, one corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. He looked older like this, even less like the boy Seungcheol first took him for.

“I’m Seungcheol. I’ve been with the Symphony for ten years, and I promise we’ll leave you to your business as soon as possible.”

“Nice to meet you Seungcheol-ssi. I’m Jeonghan,” Jeonghan said, dipping into a slight, mocking bow even as he kept his eyes locked on Seungcheol.

Seungcheol dipped his head in return, slowly bringing his arms back down until he could grip the reins in his sweaty palms. “Are we good?”

“Not quite,” Jeonghan said. The sun was hot and glaring overhead, almost at its zenith. It glinted off the knives in Jeonghan’s hands, the bits of metal on Kkuma’s spare tack. Jeonghan took a few careful steps closer, until he was standing in Seungcheol’s shadow, close enough to touch if he reached out. Seungcheol should have been afraid, but mostly he was just curious. Jeonghan chose to warn them instead of letting them walk into danger unaware. That counted for something. “Do you only take musicians with you?” Jeonghan finally asked. His scarred face was blank but Seungcheol could read between the lines.

He shrugged. “Not necessarily. We need actors, too. Painters, scavengers, folks good with their hands who can cobble together props. But everyone does something,” he said, firm. “We all have our jobs to do and we all share what we have, even when it’s not much.”

“I’m no artist,” Jeonghan said, eyes no longer squinted against the glare of the sun. Jeonghan brought a hand up and for a moment Seungcheol felt his heart in the well of his throat, convinced he had made a mistake, that Jeonghan was going to take one of those wickedly sharp knives and drive it into Seungcheol’s leg, drag it across the expanse of Kkuma’s throat until she collapsed.

He blinked, twitched, watched as Jeonghan’s hand hesitated but continued until it rested on the side of Kkuma’s soft neck. Seungcheol thought he’d been watching closely but somehow hadn’t noticed when Jeonghan put the knives away. His fingernails were short and lined with grime, his knuckles wide and knobby as he pet Kkuma gently.

“I’m not an artist, but I like animals,” he continued. “I can hunt. I’m good with my hands.”

“You want to come along?”

“If you’ll have me.”

Seungcheol snorted a laugh, though not unkindly. He wasn’t the one Jeonghan would need to convince. “It’s not really up to me, but that can wait. We need to get a move on while we still have the light.” He shifted forward slightly and held a hand down to Jeonghan.

“That’s it?” Jeonghan asked, looking dubiously at Seungcheol’s extended hand, like it might turn on him and bite.

Seungcheol shrugged again, a prickle of sweat making its way slowly down the back of his neck. The noise of the Symphony was getting closer, the echoing of the caravan over the uneven pavement grating now that Seungcheol knew there was danger ahead instead of the warm welcome they had been expecting.

“The others will have more questions that you’ll need to answer, Seungkwannie especially I’m sure, but right now we need to _go_ ,” Seungcheol said. He grabbed Jeonghan’s hand where it was still resting lightly on Kkuma’s neck and tugged, insistent. “Hop on, you’ll need to tell Halmeoni everything you know about what happened here.”

When he caught Jeonghan’s eyes again, it felt like he was being picked apart. Like he was a deer strung up and ready for cleaning, Jeonghan inspecting his hide to see if it would be good for tanning, removing his organs carefully so his half full stomach didn’t explode, parting his skin from muscle and tendon and meat and bone until he was deconstructed down to his basest parts, every bit of him ready to be made use of.

“Alright,” Jeonghan said.

Seungcheol let out a slow breath and nodded. He grabbed Jeonghan’s hand tighter and helped heft him up to sit behind Seungcheol. Jeonghan’s hands were cold where they settled around his waist. Their thighs brushed as Seungcheol turned back the way he’d come, easing Kkuma into a careful trot to catch the others before they could get any further.

When he introduced Jeonghan to the others he knew Seungkwan would be noisy and nosey in equal measure, that Hansol would stare at Jeonghan with wide, searching eyes before greeting him with a quiet hello. Seokmin would hope for another vocalist, Jihoon would be disappointed that Jeonghan didn’t have any instruments on him, and Mingyu would be excited about having another hunter to provide meat. The rest of the Symphony he was less sure about. They all took to new people differently so he was never quite certain how it would go over, but Seungcheol knew one thing for sure.

Seungcheol had found him, so Jeonghan was his responsibility now.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading 💗 comments and kudos always appreciated!!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/scissorghost) | [cc](https://curiouscat.qa/scissorghost)


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